


It’s Not Defeat If You Don’t Concede It

by cat_77



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: Trapped, injured, with a rogue warlock possibly still hunting them - what else could go wrong?  Wait.  Please forget he asked that.Alternatively: Alec and Clary get trapped in a cave where things go from bad to worse.





	It’s Not Defeat If You Don’t Concede It

**Author's Note:**

> For the “pneumonia” entry at hc_bingo.
> 
> * * *

Alec had been closest. It was both a blessing and a curse the way he was trained to look out for the weakest of the group, protect that which was not fully protected. Clary was newest to the field and thus the least trained. She had stepped back and he had followed knowing he could still cover the others from the distance.

And then the damned rogue warlock smashed some pretty little bobble and the world was filled with swirls of light. The warlock reached for what he had called the “angel blooded one” and hauled her towards the swirls, which meant Alec did the same to tug her away. Together, the two broke the warlock’s grasp, or at the very least he let go. Together, the two fell through the swirls to parts unknown.

They landed hard enough that the wind was knocked out of them, him a little more so given that his protective instincts meant she bounced off of him more than the roughhewn ground. She pushed herself up and away and he was pleased to find that she had a witchlight on her which either meant that she had paid attention during training or just found them cool. Regardless, they were no longer shrouded by complete darkness, which was far better than the alternative.

“Where are we?” she asked. He was ready to shoot off a snarky remark, only to find that she had been speaking to an app on her phone instead. He glanced over at her as she shook her head and said, “No service. It was worth a shot though.”

“Somehow I doubt this place is on Google Maps,” he commented, mainly because it was expected. He took a deep breath of the musty air and resisted the urge to cough. Moist and moldy with an overlying presence of decay. He once again fell back on his training and asked, “Status?”

“Bruises only,” she reported, which was a lie given that he could see the scrape up her forearm. She seemed unaware of it though, so he let it pass. He watched as she patted herself down, the witchlight flickering with the movement, and saw a look of disappointment pass over her features. “My stele is broken, but I still have two protein bars, a hair tie, and these,” she said as she held up her kindjals. 

He nodded, remembering how she had taken to shoving snacks into pockets and even holsters, much to Isabelle’s discontent. While they were used to using a nourishment rune as needed, she had claimed it didn’t fill her belly and sought out alternatives. 

He noticed her staring at him and realized she was waiting for a similar report. “Bow, half full quiver, blade, and a working stele,” he told her.

“Great!” she enthused. “Then we can portal ourselves out of here.”

He blinked and realized that, yes, she was the one person beyond an actual warlock that would not only see that as a probable solution but was also capable of carrying it out. “Check for wards first, and then let’s try it,” he agreed easily enough.

She ran the witchlight over the walls of their current location, finding only rocks and what might have been a tunnel from which the smell of damp was even greater. Satisfied, he handed her his stele and watched as she drew her rune. At first, there was nothing. She drew it again and there was a faint light of an almost swirl. She drew it a third time and all hell rained down upon them.

He came to with an pounding headache and a body that simply ached. He coughed the dust out of his lungs and resisted the urge to hurl from the pain knowing it would only aggravate what were either cracked or fully broken ribs. There was a faint glow to the walls as a whole now, with a slightly brighter one behind him, but he couldn’t turn that way quite yet. In truth, he could barely move at all.

He was on his side, right arm stretched out high above his head, the tendons of his shoulder screaming in a way that meant dislocation. His legs were buried by chunks of rock and most of his exposed skin felt like it was covered with scrapes. Thankfully, he had avoided landing on his quiver, his body naturally rolling away from such things, and he had managed to not break his bow in the fall.

“Fray?” he called once he was able. There was no answer, so he tried, “Clary?” There was the softest of muffled coughs and the light behind him flickered slightly.

He activated his own witchlight to make certain there was room for what he knew he needed to do next. He took in the ruins of what used to be walls along with everything else and resisted the urge to curse. The light that came off of them was faint but telling, and only partially a reflection of the lights they had brought with them. Satisfied, he kicked some of the rocks off of his legs, thankful for his boots as his ankle was only twisted into a likely sprain and not fully broken. He forced himself up into a sitting position and bit his lip against the pain that radiated down his arm as his abused tendons let their presence be known. With a deep breath, he rotated and yanked and felt the satisfying click of the joint popping back into place even as his vision whited out briefly from the action.

He patted himself down for his stele before he remembered he had given it to Clary, which had started the whole room destruction and passing out in the first place. It also reminded him that she had yet to respond to him and he had no idea what shape she was in at the given moment. With that in mind, he forced himself to his feet to discover that, yes, his ankle hurt to put any weight on and that, no, his shoulder was not strong enough to brace himself against the crumbled walls with.

He hobbled over to where the sliver of light emanated from and found a dust covered boot and even more rocks. “Clary?” he tried again, and there was a twitch of that boot, but no verbal response.

He took a deep breath to garner both his courage and strength, and began the process of digging her out. Movement sucked, but the thought of her dying from being crushed and suffocated sucked even more, so he kept at it. He worked his way towards where he thought her head might be first, carefully picking at the stones in hopes he wouldn’t dislodge something that would make the situation even worse. Finally, he found a tangle of red against scuffed leather, and knew he was close.

Clary had been lucky in that she had a pocket of air around her. She had been unlucky in that her face had been half submerged in murky water. He saw that the water still trickled down from parts unknown and suspected it had slowly filled the indent she had landed in. On the up side, she hadn’t drowned. On the down side, she probably would if he couldn’t get her out of there soon.

He worked as quickly as he dared, shifting rocks and checking on her breathing and hoping there would be no aftershocks from whatever had happened to complicate matters further. Soon enough, he had cleared the worst of it and was able to roll her gently to her back. He pulled wet strands of hair away from her mouth and patted her cheek and totally did not move away fast enough when she coughed up a fair deal of the disgusting water she had been using as a pillow.

“S-sorry,” she managed, voice harsh and raw. He wiped his face with his sleeve before he realized he had just created mud from the dust and water, and gave up all together. 

“Where are you injured?” he asked. He didn’t ask if she was as the answer to that was obvious.

“Ribs hurt. Legs hurt. Head hurts,” she groaned out. She unclasped her arms from around herself and held something up proudly. “But I managed to save this.”

He took the stele from her with a sigh of relief. It seemed intact, so he used it over her iratze and then his own. Even though the rune worked best on open wounds, it would be better than nothing. “Can you sit up?” he asked when she made no move to do so.

With his help, she managed. As soon as she was remotely upright, she coughed again, arm across her ribs to try to steady herself. “I’ve never had a portal do that before, what happened?” 

“Different type of warding than what we’re used to,” he explained. He pointed to the walls of what was clearly a cave of some sort, not sure if she could actually make out the marks or not given the way she squinted, but tried anyway. “Warlock magic. Possibly old. I think I’ve seen maybe one of these sigils in a scroll Magnus has, but I’m not sure. When you drew the rune, they lit up.” Now that he was more certain of what they were dealing with, he looked at the incident with new eyes. The first attempts shook the walls as the accumulated dirt and such broke free. Probably with the runes themselves fighting through the buildup or maybe with each try garnering a stronger reaction. The final attempt was the whole glowing shebang and that’s what cost them.

“Channeled the energy of the portal back at us?” Clary guessed, which was as good of an explanation as anything else, and he told her as much. “So we have a phone with no signal and walls that block portals. Any clue how we get out of this?”

He didn’t, and it was aggravating. He wasn’t even sure how long they had been trapped there given their time unconscious. The phone was cracked, but read twelve hours later than he suspected, if it was even accurate. They tried a fire message and almost lit themselves on fire, reinforcing the idea that the area was warded against the magics they were used to. He knew the others would be looking for them, but if there were wards at play who was to say any tracking techniques would even work? The best they could do was to try to dig themselves out, maybe destroy a sigil or two along the way to weaken whatever held them there, and really hope there was not something worse on the other side.

He activated his nourishment rune figuring twelve hours without food was probably not going to help matters. He had no idea if it would even work as the iratze hadn’t really seemed to have helped nor harmed with the scrapes so maybe personal or health-related magics didn’t trigger the feedback as much. He did the same for Clary even though she pointedly tore off a tiny piece of one of her protein bars and popped it in her mouth as well. She looked like it was a struggle to keep it down, but she was damned stubborn and managed it.

They decided they would start their excavation near where the water trickled in. It had to come from somewhere, and hopefully that somewhere was not a lake that would drown them both despite their eventual need for drinkable water. He was determined to believe they had landed in a cell of some sort, something used to trap warlocks from long ago. It would explain the warding and the repelling of portal magic, but would also mean there was probably a way in and out for the warden and safeguards against at least some natural disasters.

They worked for what he estimated to be several hours before he insisted they take a break again. The water flowed a little more freely, but only in one section. For all he knew, the place was ancient and it had been a viable drinking source at one point, though it clearly was not now. Clary coughed again, as she had off and on, but he swore it sounded worse than before.

“You going to be okay?” he asked. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his eyes, not at all surprised to see if come away with more than just wetness.

“Don’t have much of a choice,” she shrugged. She looked like the action was less than comfortable, which just served to reinforce that the iratze had done what it could, but wasn’t going to be enough for either of them.

He licked his entirely too dry lips and made what was likely a bad decision. “Why don’t I keep working on this, and you take a break? Try meditating and see if that angel of yours gives you a rune to get us out of here.”

She scoffed, which set off another fit. That, more than anything, was probably what made her finally sit down. Though it was less sit and more collapse into a graceless heap. He hit up the nourishment runes again, and then another round of healing because he was stupidly optimistic like that. As an afterthought, he tossed an enlightenment and a returner one in on the off chance they helped them find a way home. He heard her grumble that he just wanted a break from her, but she dutifully closed her eyes and concentrated while he returned to the more manual task.

When his vision began to swim before him, he decided that he needed a real break himself. Between what he had just completed and what they had worked on together, they had almost cleared a path back to what he had thought was a tunnel. He turned to tell Clary as much, but found her slumped against the wall, head at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. 

“You fall asleep on me, Fray?” he asked without heat. She probably needed the rest, as did he at that point. Without the sound of the rocks banging against each other, he could make out the almost wheeze of each breath she took. She coughed, harsh and wet, which made her eyes flutter but not completely open.

He shuffled over to her and sat down at her side, ankle not willing to hold a crouch for too long. Much like he had done far too many times with his siblings, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, only to find it way too hot for his liking.

Shadowhunters tended to not get sick very often. They were immune to most common ailments and healed quickly from others. She had been in a fight, thrown through a portal, used far too much energy to try to create a portal of her own, was crushed for her efforts, and then tried to help dig out to safety. To say her reserves were down would be an understatement. Given their luck so far, he really wasn’t surprised that she was susceptible to catching something, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. They had no medicines, no drinkable water, no fire to purify the sludge that was available. He couldn’t do practically anything to help her, and it was aggravating.

He checked the phone again because he was a glutton for punishment. Once again, far more time had passed than he first thought. He paused and looked again just to make sure, and the damned thing changed. He resisted the urge to throw it against the wall and pocketed it instead. “Whatever these wards are, they are either messing with the programming, or we are stuck in some weird time bubble,” he said even though he knew she probably didn’t hear him.

As expected, her only response was to shiver, though he could see the beads of sweat on her forehead. With nothing else to do, he carefully lowered her to lay on her side, braced by the wall against her back, and rolled up his discarded jacket for her to use as a pillow. As an afterthought, he scribbled a quick heat rune on her own jacket and hoped for the best.

He sat next to her for a moment and tried to make sense of where they were in hopes of figuring out a why they were there that didn’t just involve the response of “crazy warlock.” If it was a warlock prison, the negating of magic made sense. The whole getting sick and dying part didn’t. Unless it was a side effect? If it was built for warlocks it would be built for those of demon blood, not angel blood like the two of them. It would be built to sustain Downworlders, but that sustenance might not work so well for Nephilim. It would explain why he wasn’t starving yet, but he was hungry and tired. The time bubble might explain why his injuries were healing a little faster than if untreated, but also why Clary was getting so sick so quickly. It was all far too confusing given his current state. He needed to rest, to sleep, but didn’t want to risk an attack or the walls caving in or Clary coughing up a lung just to get a little shuteye. He had already tried his stamina rune, but wasn’t sure it had helped at all given his current level of exhaustion.

He could take a moment though. Just a tiny breath of one. He leaned his head back against the rough wall and closed his eyes. He counted breaths. Well, honestly, he counted Clary’s wheezes, and he promised himself he’d open them again when he reached one hundred.

He awoke to the sound of rocks on rocks and some truly creative profanity. Both were highlighted by deep, bone-wrenching coughs that caught his attention more than anything else. He opened his eyes to find his jacket had been tucked around him like a blanket and Clary was back to work trying to dig them out. In the dim light he could see she was pale, even for her, and she both shivered and sweat in equal turns.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” he asked, voice rough to his own ears.

She rotated slowly on her heel and gave him a look that was reminiscent of those Izzy had given him over the years and clearly chose to ignore his question. Instead, she told him, “The opening is almost big enough for me to squeeze through. I have no idea where it leads, but it’s better than conceding defeat.”

“Wasn’t conceding defeat,” he grumbled. He forced himself to his feet to discover that movement still sucked. His tendons and muscles had locked up during his little nap and protested his attempts to remedy that. “How long was I out?” he managed around a yawn, ignoring the way his ribs hurt from even that. He wiped grit from his eyes and probably rubbed more in at the same time.

“A couple of hours,” she replied. He looked at her handiwork and discovered she really had made a lot of progress. She had also tied back her hair which only seemed to highlight the bruising that ran down one side of her face and neck from the mini avalanche.

“How long have you been running a fever?” he asked next.

He didn’t actually expect her to answer, so he took no offense when she parroted her first response of, “A couple of hours.”

He helped her move a boulder the size of her torso and, when she paused to wipe her hands on her jeans, used the opportunity to rest the back of his hand against her forehead. She made a face that was a combination of a scowl and a pout, and then she turned right back to work. “You’re burning up,” he pointed out unnecessarily. 

“You know us redheads, always so hot,” she replied. He smiled because it was expected, even if she had ruined the attitude with another coughing fit. He was going to apologize for the lack of water to maybe ease the worst of it, but she interrupted him with, “So I did something stupid and found the source of that trickle and possibly drank from it already.”

“Even though it could be poisoned or contaminated?” he chided.

“I needed something after coughing up half a lung, and I activated the antivenin rune afterwards, or at least tried to. I’m starting to think they really aren’t working,” she said, voice still heavy with a wheeze. “It’s either we die here of starvation and dehydration, or we die of just starvation. It made my throat feel better. Besides, if this is a prison, they probably had some resources for the prisoners, right?”

“Somehow I doubt brown sludge was one of them,” he muttered, not at all surprised she had reached the same conclusion he had regarding the place’s purpose. He willingly checked out where she was pointing though, and was surprised to find relatively clear water flowing in from what appeared to be solid rock. It picked up the dirt and mud on the way down but, now that he looked for it, the puddle she had lain in earlier had neither grown or shrunk, so there may have been a natural system in place. He poked his finger at it and gingerly brought it to his tongue. There was a faint metallic tang to it, but it really was no worse than the well water from one of the training facilities outside of Alicante. 

“If it kills you, you can blame me,” she offered.

He smirked and cupped his hand to take one glorious sip. He resisted the urge to drink too much too fast and settled for wetting his lips and mouth more than anything else.

The whole thing led him to believe in the prison or containment cell concept again. But one that was forgotten and in disuse. Dirty and abandoned for who knew how long, dust and mold had built up over the years to create the current environment. It did beg the question of just who built it. More importantly though, it begged the question of whether or not anyone still knew about it and would come around to check on them. Well, anyone other than the warlock that sent them there that was hopefully in a containment of his very own and confessing everything to Jace and Magnus and Izzy.

Sent Clary, he corrected himself. He had just tagged along for the ride. The warlock had wanted her specifically. The one with the angel blood. Either to take out of the picture on the off chance she activated the Soul Sword again, or possibly to experiment on to discover just what else that blood was capable of. They had inadvertently demonstrated some of that power when she tried to open the portal, but maybe it would intrigue the idiot or some companion of his enough for them to come investigate further and provide them with an opportunity to escape.

He watched as she shivered again, her sweat cooling now that she had slowed with the constant movement. “Did you want my jacket?” he offered even though she still wore her own. It was noticeably cooler than earlier, and he wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or if maybe a breeze was drifting in from the corridor they were hopefully uncovering.

She shook her head. “Keep getting hot and cold,” she admitted. Then, with a wane grin, she added, “But I found something to give a quick burst of heat when I want it.”

Intrigued as the heat rune had barely warmed the jacket earlier, he motioned for her to continue. He then barked out a laugh at the result. There was no paper, but she sketched out a fire message in the air itself the way he had many times in the past. As expected, the warding repelled the magic. Not so expected was the brief bubble of flame and lingering heat from the action. 

“I wasn’t willing to try the sunlight one in case I made us blind or something,” she confided. She pushed sweaty curls that had escaped her rough ponytail away from her face and turned back to her project. “Let’s be real, the way things are going that’s totally a possibility.”

She wasn’t wrong, so he helped her dig and was silently glad the witchlights lasted so long. Eventually, he heard her stomach growl which led to a discussion on when she last ate and when either of them tried the nourishment rune. The result of which was a pass of the stele and each of them reluctantly forcing down a quarter of one of the bars. There was only just over one left of them, not nearly enough to sustain both of them long term, so he really hoped they got out sooner rather than later.

To be honest, food wasn’t the only reason he hoped for escape. Either was escape itself. Clary was far worse off than either of them wanted to admit, and he knew it. He also knew he was at risk with his injuries. He stubbornly refused to believe that his constant tiredness and the tickle at the back of his throat was the beginnings of what she had. Either they would both get out of here and she would need help getting back, or he would go search for help while she collapsed from the tiny tremors he saw with every slight movement she made. He knew which one was more likely though, and the chances of both of them ending up lost in the middle of nowhere while he dragged her around were equal to them never getting out of the damned cave in the first place.

Eventually she clambered up to the opening and stuck far more than just her head through. “I think I can make it,” she called down. She didn’t even roll her eyes at the way he was ready to catch her if or when she fell.

“How deep is the drop on the other side?” he asked, knowing she had yet to look.

She shone the light downwards and replied, “About the same as in here, I should be fine.”

Despite her protests, he still insisted on a little more preparation. He ripped off a piece of his shirt near the hem and used it to tie her light to her forearm, leaving her free to grab for handholds as well as hold on to at least one weapon. With the way their runes currently held, he did not trust that activating their night vision would truly have any benefit. He also followed her up to the opening and kept his bow at the ready for the moment she got through.

The passageway had been open when they first arrived, so it was a safe assumption that it was still part of the cell. Hopeful thinking would lead to the wish it was the part with actual survival supplies, but he really was not holding his breath. At this point, the most he could deal with was the idea it wasn’t warded even worse than where they currently were and was set to kill whoever dared to pass.

He helped her through, and then watched as she picked her way back down to more solid ground on the other side. It was farther than she said, of course, but it was also littered with enough rocks to serve as a nice unstable staircase to get there. He watched to make sure she didn’t fall, not that he could catch her from where he was, and noticed the way she teetered on the main pathway as much as on the way to it.

“What do you see?” he called once she was slightly more steady. He was staring down a cocked arrow into anything not shrouded in darkness, but knew she had more of a vantage point with the light immediately near her.

“Not a lot,” she grunted in disappointment. She took a few more steps and trailed her fingers along the edge of the wall as she did so. Unlike the main area where they had been, the faint glow was absent. It was entirely possible that it too was just covered with age, or it could have been part of the original design. “I’m going to go a little further,” she announced as though he had any say in the matter.

He stayed where he was, arrow at the ready, and wondered why he had allowed a clearly sick person go at it alone when he could have insisted they widen the opening and investigate together. That was neither here nor there at the moment though, as decisions had been made and plans implemented and, when he paused to think about it, he probably wouldn’t have stopped Jace or Isabelle either. For as much as he complained that Clary needed to get up to speed with the others, he knew he coddled her. He also knew she really didn’t need it that much anymore. She had been so new and so naive when he first met her that his instincts screamed at him to keep her safe as much as they screamed at him to train her so he wouldn’t have to. Enough time had passed now that those should have faded, yet he still struggled with them at times.

Times like watching the light bob back and forth violently and questioning if it was a coughing fit or attack. Yes, he could hear the near retching sounds, but instincts were instincts and so he adjusted his grip and called, “Fray?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. She sounded miles away from it, but she also turned back around so that he could get a good view of her. “There’s a turn up here. Did you want me to check it out, or wait until you can cover me?”

He looked down and estimated a half hour or so of digging for him to be able to get through and decided, “Let’s wait. You can stay on that side if you want, but stay close?”

She didn’t argue and he didn’t know if it was because she didn’t have the energy to or if she actually agreed. He shouldered his bow and started in on the rocks and she gingerly picked her way back to pull a few down on her side as well. If someone wanted to attack, it would have been a prime time with both of them distracted and her back to the only potential entrance and exit. Then again, if someone wanted to attack, they could have when they both passed out next to an opening to nowhere.

By the time he landed on the other side, he was sweaty and she was shivering again. He reached his hand out again and managed to make a glancing blow across her forehead before she flinched away. While it was not a good sign for her instincts, it did let him know her fever was back, if it ever went away in the first place. “What are you, my mother?” she said without heat. 

She rarely joked about family, not that he could blame her, so he took it as another sign of her mental state. “No, I’m a big brother, hard to shut that off,” he said without apology. He was so used to checking on his siblings that it was easy enough to add a few others to the fold.

Her lips turned up slightly and she managed not to cough again for a good ten count, so he was fairly certain it was a genuine reaction. She led him down the short corridor to the turn she had found and he could understand her reluctance to go much further on her own. It was dark and blended in so well that it would be easy to miss. The main path still continued on for at least a while longer, and better for them both to be lost together in a labyrinth of fractal offshoots than alone.

On a whim, he took one of his arrows and scratched at the wall. Hidden under years of dirt and decay was more of the same stone from the original chamber. The not quite glow and not quite reflection of it helped to light their way but, more importantly, helped to mark their path and make the hidden entrances a little less hidden.

“Let’s just hope this place isn’t magicked to move those while we’re not looking,” Clary pointed out with false cheeriness, which made it his turn to grin.

The first path bent slightly backwards towards their original entrance point before it ended in a much smaller chamber with rounded walls. Water flowed almost freely down those walls, and again disappeared into the aether as before. Clary readily used it to splash her face and wash the worst of the grit from her hands and if he caught her drink handfuls of it without testing it in any way, he didn’t mention it.

They headed back to the main passageway and she immediately turned down and away from where they had been previously. “If that’s the bath, I’m hoping we find the kitchen next, hopefully with a nice view of a huge back yard,” she said by way of explanation. He huffed a laugh and tried not to think about how they had already befouled what she would undoubtedly call the main living area when they were trapped.

They didn’t find a kitchen, nor did they find anything immediately of use. There was a small almost closet space off the main corridor that looked as though it once housed supplies of some sort. There were shelves and jars but most were either empty or unidentifiable. They didn’t dare open anything for fear of what may have decayed or grown in them over what both were certain to have been decades. He did take a bowl-like item with the intention to rinse in the water and use as a cup for later. Easier than cupping their hands all the time, and they could actually bring some with them versus constantly having to go back for more.

Clary was clearly waning by the time they found another sharp turn and he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t far behind. This one had no further offshoots and came to a sudden and abrupt end about a hundred yards down it. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to it, at least until he shone the light around the edges. More sigils, actually visible and far more common, at least to him. They were wards, but they marked a passable entrance and exit, or at least they usually did. Given that they were mixed in with more of the type he couldn’t identify, he figured it was a fair guess that wherever the once doorway may have led was locked down good and tight.

Clary had apparently reached her limits. She bodily threw herself at the stone and dirt and physically tried to punch and kick it. The result was another coughing fit that was severe enough to lead to her retching off to the side and heaving for air that didn’t seem like it was going to be enough. When she swiped at her lips, he saw the spatter of red and tried not to think of what that might mean.

There was something at the edge of his senses though. He helped her right herself and was going to lead them both back to the water source when he felt it. Confusion, determination, worry. “Jace,” he breathed. He put his hand over his parabatai rune and swore he felt the faintest tingle of warmth, the first time he had felt anything beyond the vague connection of existence since this whole thing had began. Either the wards were weakest to Shadowhunter magic here or he was close or, hopefully, both. 

On a whim, he tried an unlocking rune. The wall vibrated, but did not disappear. He tried another one, and then another one. After three dozen of them, he was willing to perhaps admit defeat. “How many before we go back?” he asked the woman crumpled and still heaving for breath at his feet.

“An even fifty,” she coughed, so he added fourteen more.

There was no result, not that he was expecting one, so he turned to offer her a hand up. He half walked and half carried her back to what she had named the bathroom and let her shamelessly gorge herself on as much water as she could manage. She made a face when he reminded her to try her nourishment rune again, and pulled out the remainder of her stock of protein bars. The fact she had any left at all surprised him. The fact she barely took the slightest bite before she pocketed it again did not.

She passed out long before he did, not that he believed she truly got any rest. She shivered and shook and woke herself coughing only to flop back down to start the whole process all over again. He sent a few fire messages for amusement’s sake more than anything else, but she sighed into the ensuing warmth, so maybe there was a purpose to his boredom after all.

He did eventually manage to get some sleep himself. His internal clock told him it was only a matter of a few hours, though the phone with its ten percent battery remaining told him it was far more. He woke when there was a weight pressed into his side to find Clary had curled up next to him, probably seeking out his warmth. He brushed a tangle of a curl out of her eyes and felt the clammy moistness to her skin. She was in between fevers, at least for now. He had no idea how to heal her nor did he have any idea on how to get them out of there. His only hope was that the others would find a way, and sooner rather than later. He hated the feeling of helplessness and he hated the reliance on the unknown, but he really did not have much of a choice and so he hated that as well.

When it was clear that neither one of them could fake sleep for much longer, he sat up and tried to plan out another day of captivity. When he saw her fight with the knots of her hair, he tugged her over and finger combed the strands the best he could before he twisted it into a quick braid. She seemed impressed, but he brushed it off with a wry, “Izzy wasn’t always the fashion icon she is today. Someone had to keep that stuff in order or our father would have shaved the whole thing off.” 

It was the truth, as was the fact he kept the tears at bay by learning a few quick tricks that she promised to tell precisely no one about. He kept his image, she developed hers, and sometimes, after a truly horrible day, he still found her at his feet with a brush in hand, some horrible show on the television both pretended to hate while he carefully folded the strands back into place. He also learned how to do a decent manicure, though Magnus was clearly superior at that particular task.

They both made use of the water source again to both rinse and drink from, and then they went to explore again on the off chance there was something they missed the first time. There wasn’t, but it was worth the try. Neither were the type to just sit and do nothing, so it kept their minds occupied if nothing else. Along the way, Clary told stories of ridiculously fake haunted houses she had gone to in her youth, and he told her of some of his earliest hunts. Both concluded that he would have seriously damaged the actors working at the attractions, and Izzy probably would have just blew a hole in the wall and strutted right on out. Neither could decide if Jace would be arrested for assault and arson or if he would have glamoured himself to add to some random soul’s terror when he scared the crap out of them at some choice moment.

Several hours later, Clary asked for his stele again. It wasn’t for food or healing or anything useful like that. She started to draw at the end of the hallway with the runes, bottom lip between her lips as she concentrated.

“Did you have a vision?” he asked, unable to keep the hope out of his tone.

She shook her head. “Figured I’d try the deactivation rune, just in case,” she replied. Her voice sounded like she had swallowed gravel and was barely above a whisper. “Not dumb enough to try the portal one again.”

He let her work and debated another round of the area, maybe fetch some more water, maybe a dig through the supply closet-like area for something else useful. It wasn’t that he doubted she could do it, it was just that he doubted their cell of an existence would let her. Which is why he was beyond surprised when the area flooded with light.

He watched as the stone wall crumbled and faded to reveal a rocky ledge that appeared to overlook a prairie of all things. He had guessed it was about nine in the morning, yet the sun outside had the golden hue as if it was about to set. There was no breeze or wind or anything like that even as the long grasses swayed to and fro, which he took as a warning sign that they were not yet free.

Clary apparently thought otherwise. Either she had held on to far too much positivity or her fever clouded her judgment as she took a ready step forward, only to bounce backwards and on to her ass. He helped her back up and then both of them pressed gingerly against the nothingness to feel out just where the final wards trapped them.

“It’s something, right?” she asked sheepishly.

“It’s more than we had,” he agreed.

Neither one of them wanted to leave the doorway after that. They had spent literal days surrounded by rock and the glow of witchlights and magic, so to see the sun, even as it was setting, was a sight to behold. Blinding, but beautiful. 

Aside from necessary water breaks, they spent most of the next day there. Even with the sun down, a night sky full of stars was worth it. The night itself seemed to pass way too fast, after he found that he had drifted off, it was hard to tell if it was morning or afternoon when to tried to orientate himself again. He was going to ask Clary, but doubted she knew either. She dozed and coughed and stared off into space and seemed less and less coherent with each passing supposed hour. 

Which is why he was hesitant when she claimed she saw something move through the field. He wanted to see it, needed to see it too, but the chances were so slim that he offered not much more than a halfhearted glance at the orange-tinted view.

Only he did see it. A dark speck too far away to make out clearly. But it was coming closer. 

The speck broke down into multiple specks soon enough and they did seemed headed for their location, almost. They were several degrees off on their trajectory, which would equate to missing them by a long shot. Only they split now, perhaps to cover more ground. There were three of them and one went to the far left, one to the far right, and one aimed for no more than twenty yards from their current location.

Closer now, he saw the glint of the once again fading sun off of blond atop the black and knew, just knew who it had to be. He put a hand to his parabatai rune and swore he felt the thrum of it increase, right before he decided to do something really stupid.

Clary had already tried pounding again, and shouting with what little voice she had. He had joined in, but it was obvious no one heard them. So he took out his dagger and held out his hand.

“What are you doing?” Clary croaked.

“Something I will probably regret,” he admitted.

He pressed just the tip of it into the palm of his hand, barely breaking the skin. He watched as the blond and black speck paused and seemed to hold up his own hand in response. Emboldened by this, he then pressed a dot on either side of the first. The faintest hint of confusion rolled through the bond but it only served to prove to him that it was Jace out there, which meant he had a fair idea just who the other two were as well.

He took a deep breath and scored a line between each dot to join up at the center one. When Jace didn’t immediately get with the program, he then drew a line from farther down his palm to meet up with the middle one as well. It was a damned arrow, and he really hoped his parabatai was smart enough to get the message.

There was the waving of hands and the gesturing towards the rock face and the two on the outskirts joined him and together they headed straight towards the ledge. They were still about ten yards off now, but it was better than nothing. Better yet was when the three were close enough for him to make out the silver spiral that climbed up Izzy’s arm and the shine of the metal studs in Magnus’ jacket.

He saw the familiar blue glow of magic light in Magnus’ palms and then watched as it fanned out away from him, sending ripples of light through anything and everything around them. The ripples seemed to coalesce right in front of the doorway and he really hoped it was something more than a fevered dream. When the image before him flickered and faded, he was damn near ready to scream in frustration before he realized it was simply Magnus lowering the glamour on their side the same way Clary had managed to do so on theirs.

Whatever the magic had done, it made the barrier between them a visible thing. Jace and Izzy raced towards them, elation clear on their faces, right up until they reached the glow. Jace reached out a tentative hand and then reeled backwards as though shocked from the touch. His lips were moving but no sound made it through and Clary well and truly looked like she was going to cry. She held up a hand instead, a mere inch away from the ward, and watched while Jace did the same.

Of course, then she lost her temper and kicked and swatted at the ward and spewed forth some less than calm language that only served to work her up into another coughing fit. He braced her through the worst of it, not at all surprised when she wiped more than spittle from her lips again. Jace seemed horrified at what he saw and Izzy was clearly concerned. For his part, Magnus just looked that much more determined. Much like Clary, he threw everything he had at the barrier, ending up shielding himself and others from the resulting backlash.

It was Izzy that was the calm one. She took out her phone and he was going to try to find a way to point out they both had no signal and no battery left, but instead she pulled up the notepad function and typed out a message to them. “Are you okay?” she asked, despite the obvious answer of no.

He shook his head and motioned to Clary, who he had helped back down to the rough floor now that her legs didn’t want to support her. Isabelle quickly figured out they had no means of communication themselves, and started a series of yes or no questions that ranged from available supplies to what symptoms he had cataloged thus far. Magnus interrupted with something to which Izzy made a face to, followed by him giving some sort of explanation that apparently made sense to her.

“He says if she was mundane it’d be pneumonia, or something like it,” she typed. Magnus spoke again and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t long to hear his voice. Instead, his sister held up the next message, which read a rough reasoning that wherever they were probably negated the enhanced effects of their physiology, meaning she may well have something that took down normal humans after all. All that told him was that they needed to get away from there that much sooner, and hope the effects of the place negated with distance. If he prayed as much to the angel, well, that was for him to know and no one else.

Jace had crouched down next to Clary, still trying to talk to her and undoubtedly give her reassurances despite the fact she had closed her eyes and had barely been able to track the words when she watched him anyway. Magnus poked at the wards and summoned a few books and scrolls, only to scan through them and send them back to wherever he had taken them from. Izzy switched between the one sided conversation, making calls to what he assumed was the Institute for information, and following whatever instructions Magnus rattled off.

He eventually sat down next to Clary and was not at all surprised when she decided to use his shoulder for a pillow. The heat poured off of her again, and he less counted the minutes and more counted the wheezes and the staccato coughs. That’s why it scared him when both came to a complete and utter stop.

She bolted upright, which at least reassured him she was still alive. She stared off into space though, a hundred yard stare across the short distance of the corridor. When she blinked back to reality, she patted him down until he handed her his stele. “Did you see something?” he asked, wondering if maybe their prayers had actually been answered.

She only wheezed again in response. She tried to scramble to her feet and only made it because he helped her. Their movement caught the attention of the others, who looked on curiously at just what she could be up to now. 

She started to draw against the barrier again. From what it looked like to him, the rune was a cross between her deactivation one and the standard unlocking one with an extra swoop thrown in for good measure. It made the barrier flicker, but not fade completely, and he questioned if she had been given a vision or just tried something on her own, smashing things together with a blind hope for success.

She tried the rune again and again was met with failure. The barrier flickered, but nothing more. She slouched against him, clearly running on reserves and not a whole lot of them. He didn’t know what to tell her, and wasn’t sure if he should stop her or offer some of his own waning energy to what may well be a fool’s quest.

He glanced up from knotted red to find Izzy waving her hands. She made a gesture that Clary took as a direction to repeat the rune, slower and more precise. When she did so, she held up her phone and recorded the attempt. Jace then repeated the action with his own stele, with precisely no results. She held up the image to verify it with Clary, who shook her head and spun her finger in a circle. Izzy’s eyes went wide in understanding and, after a brief moment with the editing function of her phone, flipped the image and held that up instead.

At Clary’s nod, she showed the image to the others again. Jace held up his stele and motioned for Clary to do the same. Together, they drew the new rune on either side. Alec watched as the golden symbol seemed to hang in midair before it started to fade. He swore he saw Jace’s eyes light the same color for the briefest of moments, and then he was damned near blinded as the barrier exploded in a cascade of light.

Jace seemed ready to race right on in but thankfully Magnus held him back. Alec had the distinct impression this was a one time, one way pass, and he bodily hauled Clary through the doorway to the other side, instinct meaning their weapons were in hand while he did so. His skin felt like it was on fire, a thousand little flames slathered against him, and then there was the wind and breeze and fresh air for a whole two count before he pretty much faceplanted against the edge of the ledge.

Magnus caught him and tugged him upright. He was reluctant to let go of Clary, not sure if she could stand on her own or if she’d fall off the precipice, but Jace was there and wrapped himself around her, whispering promises that he had her, that she was safe, that they’d get her home and cure her, and a hundred other things that Alec let fade to the wayside as he breathed in deep the familiar scent of his boyfriend, the salt of his sweat and the tang of his magic even better than the grass and the trees and everything else.

He pulled back slightly and closed his eyes against the concern he saw radiated back at him. He knew he had to be quite the sight what with being unwashed, unkempt, and with several days’ worth of beard trying it’s best to hide his features. Magnus didn’t seem to care in the least though, and either did his sister when she wrapped herself around him from the other side. She only wrinkled her nose a little when she announced, “The Infirmary is waiting. They have fluids, antibiotics, and antivirals ready in case the runes aren’t enough.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Clary-”

“Is not the only one who needs them so don’t even try to fight this,” his sister replied.

“You’re burning up,” Magnus announced, giving additional reason for his concern. He did the same thing Alec had done with Clary and placed the back of his hand against his forehead as testament to his words. Unlike with Clary, he gently stroked from that forehead down to his cheek before he rotated his hand and cupped it with his palm. “How long have you been ignoring your own illness to take care of her?” he whispered, free of judgement.

Alec didn’t answer, just leaned into the coolness of the touch, breathed in more of the crisp air, and finally let his body relax for the first time in days. He reluctantly pulled away, but only to give in to his own coughing fit that he had held at bay for far too long. That was apparently answer enough as far as his boyfriend was concerned. A wave of his hand and a portal opened before them, the promise of home only a few stumbling steps away.

Alec completely abused his position as the head of the Institute to take a real shower before he dutifully reported to the Infirmary. As much as he had been tempted to pass out in his own bed, Izzy had made him promise and there was always hell to pay if he reneged on those. The fact Magnus pretty much bodily dragged him there before he even had the chance to reach for a razor also played a role. He assumed Clary had taken advantage of the allowance as he found her neatly slotted into her assigned bed, scrubbed clean, hair brushed, and mundane IV prepped at her side.

Neither the medics nor the Silent Brothers trusted Magnus to heal either of them. It was less a jibe at him and more of a fear of lingering effects from the cell. They had been trapped in a place that not only negated warlock magic but actively repelled it, and fears of repercussions should they try to use that magic now were high. So Alec let them draw their runes and dose him with what they assured him was a cure and generally passed out into a medically necessary sleep for most of nearly three days before they declared him fit enough for bed rest away from their watchful eyes.

Not that he was away from other watchful eyes. 

They technically had not declared which bed he was to rest in and so he found himself safely ensconced in the decadent softness of the loft, head atop a silky pillow, buried beneath far too many blankets. He slept even more there, lulled to sleep with promises that the cave was sealed tightly, the rogue warlock was in custody, and that Clary was on the mend and expected to be similarly discharged in another two to three days. Her bed had been next to his in the Infirmary so he had personally seen the improvement, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still going to check in to make sure until she was verified to be in the free and clear.

It was nearly sundown on his first night at the loft when he managed to obtain more than the vaguest of details of what had happened. Magnus had opened the drapes to let the multicolored hues dance across the bedroom after Alec mentioned the dark bleakness of the cave before he situated himself right at his side once again. He wasn’t known to be the clingy type, not like this at least, so Alec broke and demanded to know just what was going on.

Magnus stalled by adjusting the pillows to better prop him up and then stalled further by summoning a mug of tea that he assured him was good for his still healing throat before he relented. “In your opinion, how long were you trapped there?” he asked with a telling mildness.

Alec thought about it for a moment before he replied, “A couple of days? It was hard to judge and I think the magic messed with the phone as the clock seemed off.”

“Two and a half weeks,” Magnus blurted. He glanced away and cocked his head to the side as he corrected, “Sixteen days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes if you would like to be exact.”

“What?” Alec exclaimed in disbelief. He had taken far too sharp of breath to do so and gave himself a brief coughing fit for his troubles. That was all that truly remained of his illness, though it seemed to trigger a pain in his ribs that he was assured was phantom only whenever it happened. Away from the cave, the healing runes had done their job and his ribs, shoulder, and ankle were like new again. Once he got his breathing back under control, and after he took the requisite sip of Magnus’ doctored tea, he managed a much quieter, “But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if you take into account the fact the cave, the cell, whatever you wish to call it, was created as a type of confinement for misbehaving warlocks,” Magnus pointed out. He brushed his fingers down the scruff that was already growing back on Alec’s chin and smiled sadly. “Time is already an iffy thing for immortals; most would not notice any discrepancies, especially in the days before modern technology. But a five or ten year sentence in such a place may well equate to everyone he knew or loved, everyone who would remember and side with him, being dead and gone.”

Alec leaned back against the pillows and tried to wrap his mind around that. “Would the captive’s system be thrown off? Sleep, healing, that sort of thing?”

“For a warlock, likely not that much. For one not of immortal demon blood, it is very likely,” Magnus admitted. “Beyond your general fatigue, it would explain quite a lot. Places like this have existed for millennia though they have fallen out of use. They are built to repel the magical energies expressed within them, which would account for your lack of healing. They are also built to keep the captive alive for the duration, to sustain them as it were, which could be why you lasted with so little food.”

“So it kept us alive, just not comfortable,” Alec mused. He also figured it was less that the iratze didn’t work and the nourishment rune did, and more that neither actually worked and the cell as a whole kept them alive instead. He may never fully understand how that place worked and it annoyed him. Things should be logical and make sense, but they so rarely ever did.

“Well, they were not exactly vacation hot spots,” Magnus agreed, drawing him from his thoughts.

“I’m assuming it takes more than a standard portal to get in and out of there then?” he guessed.

Magnus nodded. “Merrick, the warlock that started this whole mess, managed to get his hands on one of the keystones,” he explained. He rolled his eyes as he added, “Named such as they are literally keys cast of a very specific stone intended to, whatever, you get the point. He had one. He used one. I doubt he planned on going there himself, but rather wished to shove Biscuit through and then open a separate portal to freedom.”

This was the part Alec just did not get, so he said as much. “Why though? Why put her there versus a million of other places? She’s not immortal, she wouldn’t have survived long enough for us to forget her.” He didn’t even want to think of her trapped alone. Even if her stele hadn’t broken, this was Clary they were talking about. Her knack of getting into trouble was becoming legendary, as was her knack of getting out of it in often explosive ways that never bode well for those unfortunate enough to try something with her.

“Honestly? I’m not sure,” Magnus admitted with a heartfelt sigh. “Merrick was hardly forthcoming, but I assume he thought the cell would be warded against even Shadowhunter tracking. He was overconfident and surprised we managed to catch him. He could have tucked her away, escaped, made it seem as though she hadn’t survived, and eventually moved her to a location to fit his needs.”

“And those needs were?” Alex prompted, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Actual angels rarely grace the Earth with their presence. The blood of Shadowhunters has been diluted over the centuries enough to lose some of the angelic power. With Clary’s augmentation, it was the closest he was going to get to the real thing, aside from Jace of course,” Magnus told him.

“Lab rat?” Alec surmised.

“In a sense,” Magnus agreed. “Though those usually at least get a cage with a view of some sort, little treats when they behave...”

“Not helping...” Alec growled. He pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not still holding the dwindling mug of tea. He could feel a headache coming on, and only part of it was from his lingering exhaustion. He knew a single cough would ratchet that up to near migraine levels and was not looking forward to dealing with that atop everything else. “Just tell me that this Merrick guy is locked away safe and sound and he was acting alone, please? We don’t need Clary and Jace being at risk on patrols, just because of what’s been added to their blood.” They were experimented on once in their lives, even if they didn’t remember it, and didn’t need to have a go at it a second time.

“Merrick is in a cell at your Institute, wearing chains to negate his powers,” Magnus assured him. “I have convened a council of other High Warlocks to debate his fate. Some believe he should be handed over to the Clave, others that he should be locked into one of the caves he’s so fascinated with, and others are vying for his outright execution so as to not start a war over his abduction of a Shadowhunter.”

“But he was alone, right?” Alec confirmed. He had his own opinions on what should happen to the rogue warlock, but freely admitted those opinions were biased. Not that Magnus didn’t have a little of that going on as well, but he would be one voice of many on the council. If the matter was handed over to the Clave, it would be out of both of their hands, and might be the preferred route. That is, as long as they could make sure there was not some partner in crime lurking in the shadows to try again.

“As far as we can tell, yes,” Magnus assured him. “We are looking into every known contact of his within recent history. Given that this is a warlock we’re talking about, our definition of recent is a little lengthier than yours.”

“So Jace and Clary could still be at risk until the investigation proves otherwise?” Alec asked.

Magnus shook his head. “I do not believe so. Any accomplice would want to lay low for now and we have yet to find any sign there was one in the first place. Besides, Biscuit is off duty for the time being and we both know Blondie is not about to leave her side any more than I am yours.” He looked at him shrewdly and added, “I also know you well enough to know you will not let either of them out on their own anytime soon. I can add a little whisper to the Downworlder circles that they are off limits that I am quite certain our local packs and clans will support given the sheer number of times they have proven themselves as allies.”

It would do, for now. Though Magnus wasn’t wrong in that Alec wasn’t going to let the two run free without backup. Said backup would either be hand chosen by him or just default to him and Izzy outright. They worked best as a team anyway, and no one could deny that.

He finished the last of his tea and found the mug plucked from his hand almost immediately. “Now sleep,” Magnus directed. “It will help you heal and might even take care of that headache of yours. Unless you’re willing to give some warlock TLC a go? I doubt any magic from the cave still holds this long and this far away.”

Alec slid down so that he was still mostly propped up, but in a little bit more comfortable position to sleep. He knew it was cheesy, but he reached out and patted the nearest bit of his boyfriend that he could reach and yawned, “I’ve got all the warlock TLC I need right here.”

He closed his eyes and settled in but, before he drifted off entirely, he heard, “And if I have my way, you always will.”


End file.
